There is only silence, and Cera debates leaving. Yet he doesn’t, for although the God he is praying to does not appear, the shrine brings him comfort. The flowers are starting to wilt, and yet there is a grounding presence to the area. It makes him feel safe, even if he knows that the God is far too busy to focus on the troubles of a little colt. Ilaria clambered down off his shoulders and curled between his knees where they were pressed to the dying warmth of the ground. Cera curled around her, the two falling into a world all of their own, sharing emotions through a link that no other could understand. So focused on comforting each other, they nearly missed the approach of a kindly old soul. Surprised by the rudimentary yet wise speech, Cera lifted his peach painted crown from the warmth of Ilaria’s body to gaze over at the ancient being. Emeralds gazed into similarly colored orbs, and the colt blinked almost stupidly at the creature. At first he was dumbfounded, but he had been in the presence of a God and merely accepted the fact that such a creature could exist. Kindness flooded Cera’s irises in greeting, tiny smile working its way onto his face despite the conflicted feelings that remained knotted up in his breast. The turtle’s speech was slow and deliberate, and the cherub listened attentively. Ilaria, too, sat up from her curled position to regard the wise being with large dark eyes. Small giggle, weak at best, escaped the patchy son and he moved one caramel appendage to see the being better. Old age was indeed a bother, it seemed. Cera let him speak fully before he did the same, not wanting to interrupt the interesting turtle. ”You are friends with him, sir?” he spoke softly, curious. Gods were friends with creatures such as the old turtle? Cera thought the scaly man was rather lucky then, though he didn’t know if being a friend to a God would be good or bad.

”You are seeking guidance then? What happened? You say so many names, but I cannot travel far. I do not know this world like I used to.” Cera’s expression deflated, as is the nature of emotional youths. Memories were hard to suppress, and he did not wish to fall into one in the presence of the old creature. Ilaria chirped comfortingly at him, and the pair saw no harm in telling the turtle if he only wished to help guide him, which was what Cera had turned to the shrines for in the first place. ”I am…I was out playing in a forest near my home, with Ilaria.” The red panda made a soft noise then at hearing her name, and Cera smiled down at her briefly. ”I don’t really remember when he came…his name is d’Artagnan sir, a unicorn from a herd far north. He attacked me, gifted with magic of poison…he told me to die, for being a Pegasus and not of his species…” voice wavered and he caught it to the best of his ability. It had been nearly a season ago, and yet he still found himself shaken up about it. Yet he was healing, and the memory no longer held the potency it once did. ”I turned in time, but he sliced his horn through my chest with the poison on it,” he explained, trying to be detached emotionally from the story. Slowly he shifted to show the garish white scar that spanned the entirety of his breast. For a moment he was quiet, trying to collect his thoughts. ”All I really remember was pain after that. My dad came and saved me, and took me to a healer in time. But…but I swear sometimes that I was almost ready to leave this life…and it is scary to imagine.” That was something he did remember, the power of the Sun God burning its way through the poison in his veins as Onni healed him. Before it had set to work, he had sworn that he was touching heaven. That the pain was finally, finally over. It terrified him to realize that he had been ready to accept that fate. ”I want to hate him, for doing it to me, since it changed me a lot…life isn’t really the same anymore and it’s taking a long time to be normal again. But I can’t seem to hate him…is that normal sir?” Face crinkling in confusion, unable to sort through his own emotions.